


The Good Ol' Days?

by OrangeOctopi7



Series: OrangeOctopi's Stanuary 2020 [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: But also pre-canon?, Gen, Post canon, Stanuary 2020, Time Travel Shenanigans!, Time Travel is Confusing, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeOctopi7/pseuds/OrangeOctopi7
Summary: Stan and Ford find themselves back in their teenage bodies in 1969, 4 months before that fateful day at the science fair. Will they be able to get home to their own time? And will they be able to resist the urge to change the time-line?
Series: OrangeOctopi's Stanuary 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599052
Comments: 107
Kudos: 161





	1. Back in My Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP I've been sitting on for a while. I was going to post a one-shot for the last week of Stanuary, but the last half of this month has been crazy, between traveling to visit my sister, my grandpa's funeral, and getting a terrible cold that I'm still recovering. For now, this is my last post of Stanuary 2020, and if I get around to writing my original idea, I'll replace this in the Stanuary series and put this up on its own.

After the flash of brilliant blue light, Ford realized he was no longer standing in the living room of the Mystery Shack. Instead, he was standing in a much smaller living room, with painfully bright yellow and orange 70’s style wallpaper. The same kind they used to have in their home in Glass Shard Beach. In fact, it  _ was _ the same wallpaper.

“Hey, are ya gonna stand there gawkin’ like a pigeon all day, or are ya gonna move out from in front of the TV?” A harsh voice asked from behind him. 

Ford whipped around to see his father sitting in his old favorite green-and-red plaid chair. The scientist looked down at his hands and saw that they were young and soft, rather than worn and calloused from years of work and travel. But in his left hand he still clutched the Time Tape, the one Shermie had claimed was broken.

“Whatcha got there, slick?” Filbrick asked, spotting the Time Tape.

“Uhhh... tape... measurer?” Ford said slowly. He’d certainly gotten better at lying over the years, but he wasn’t prepared for this. “For…” he looked around and tried to guess the year he’d come back to, “...for my science fair project?”

“That’s not one of mine.” Filbrick observed, “Where’d you get it?”

Stanford was saved from having to come up with a convincing lie when they heard Stanley thunder down the stairs and burst into the room. In the split-second the twins’ eyes met, Ford knew Stan was going through the exact same thing he was.

“Borrowed it from school!” Stan explained, too loudly.

Even though they couldn’t see their father’s eyes behind the old man’s shades, it was clear he was rolling them. “Just as long as you didn’t waste any money buying a new one when we got perfectly good tools at home. Now get outta the way before the commercials end.”

Stan and Ford dashed back up the stairs to their room and slammed the door tightly behind them

“What the heck is going on!?” Stan exclaimed as soon as they were alone. “How are we back here and pimply teenagers?”

“Well, obviously,” Ford’s voice cracked, and he cleared his voice before continuing, “Obviously the Time Tape brought us back here.”

“But Shermie said that thing’s been broken for years!” Stan’s voice cracked right back. “You didn’t fix it, did you?”

“Well, I was just testing it to try and see what was wrong with it. I didn’t think it would actually take us back in time!” Ford pulled their calendar off the wall. It read January 15th, 1969. 44 years before the present they had left… and four months before that fateful day at the Science Fair.

Stan’s expression brightened as he looked at the calendar. “Wait, Ford, we could fix things! Stop your science fair project from breaking, stop Dad from kicking me out!”

Ford’s face fell, and he glanced at his desk. The perpetual motion machine was still in its early building stages, just a few parts of the frame lying still next to the blueprints, and a half-finished methods paper.

“Stan, I know it’s tempting, but it’s an  _ incredibly _ bad idea! Changing that event would alter  _ a lot _ of things in our timeline. If we don’t part at the end of our Senior year, we might never defeat Bill!”

“Yeah, and you might never meet him in the first place! Let that jerk be someone else’s problem!”

“And Dipper and Mabel might never be born! At the very least they would be very different people when we returned.”

Stan's eyes widened. “I-I hadn’t thought of that…. I don’t want that….”

“And that’s even assuming we could change the timeline in the first place!” Ford continued to ramble on, despite the fact that his point had been made. “From what I understand, changing the greater flow of time is  _ absurdly _ difficult. Dipper had to go through over  _ thirty _ different permutations just to win a  _ carnival game _ !  _ Then _ there’s the  _ Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron _ to worry about--”

“OK,OK, I get it!” Stan held his hands up placatingly, “Let’s just get back to 2013 then!”

Ford pulled the tape out 44 years and pressed the forward button. Nothing happened.

“Ah, so  _ that’s _ how it’s broken.” He commented, deceptively calm.

“ _ What!? _ Don’t tell me we’re stuck here!”

“No, no, I’m sure I can fix it…”

“And how long is _ that  _ gonna take?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, if I had my lab and my tools back in Gravity Falls, it would just be a matter of hours, but  _ here… _ a few days? A week? Maybe more?”

Stan groaned loudly and flopped back onto his bottom bunk.. “So basically, you have no clue. How am I supposed to resist the urge to change the timeline in the meantime?”

“I know it’s not going to be easy, but we really don’t have any other options. We just need to try and stick to the original timeline as much as possible.”

“Crap, Ford, I barely remember what happened throughout this entire  _ year _ , let alone some random day!”

“I know, I know!” Ford sighed and sat down with a thump at his desk. “I don’t remember much in the way of specifics either. We’ll just have to stick to whatever seems like a normal routine.”


	2. Stupid Teen Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew eating breakfast and heading out to school could be so emotional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also part of Forduary 2020. The theme is Travel/Trapped, which I thought fit well in this story.

They didn’t sleep well, that first night. Ford stayed up late, because of course he would have stayed up into the wee hours of the night working on his perpetual motion machine in the original timeline. But he barely touched the project. With the knowledge he had now, he could probably build the whole thing tonight, but that would, of course, be changing the timeline. A younger Ford had learned a lot, working so hard and so long on this machine, and future Ford didn’t want to deprive his past self of that important lesson. So instead, he began writing, racking his brain for anything he could remember of January, 1969.

Stan tried to sleep at first, but he just couldn't. He was too anxious and excited, all rolled into one. So he instead dug out a few of his old comic books that never got thrown away.

They both must have fallen asleep at some point, because come morning, there was a rapping at the door that woke them both with a start.

“Get up, you two! You’re gonna be late for school!” A woman with a thick Jersey accent yelled through the door.

“M-mom?” Ford’s head lifted blearily off his desk.

“Wow, you are _ really  _ taking the whole ‘stick to the timeline’ thing seriously.” Stan mused from his bottom bunk.

“I didn’t _ mean _ to fall asleep at my desk…” Ford groaned.

“You never do, Sixer, you never do.”

They marched downstairs and into the kitchen, where their mother had a breakfast of hot cinnamon and apple oatmeal waiting for them. Stan was so happy to see her, he ran over and hugged her, pecking a swift kiss on her cheek.

"Aww, sweetie!" She planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm still not paying your parking ticket." She added flatly.

"What parking ticket?" Stan asked, confused. "Oh, um, I mean,  _ drat. _ "

Ford was too tired to even work up the energy to be happy to see his mother. As he sat down, he automatically reached for the coffee pot. But a rolled up newspaper smacked his hand away.

“What d’you think you’re doin’?” Caryn asked, eyebrow raised.

“... getting my morning coffee?” Ford answered, addled.

“How many times do I have to tell you, honey? No coffee ‘til you’re 18. It’ll stunt your growth!”

Ford looked like he was about to have a fit.

“Wait, are we not 18?” Stan asked quickly. Luckily, his parents ignored his out-of-place comment.

“Ya don’t need coffee, ya need more sleep!” Filbrick grunted from behind his newspaper.

“You both drink ten cups a day!” Ford argued, his voice cracking again.

“That’s cuz we’re adults.” Filbrick growled, “Once you’re old an’ decrepit, you can drink all the coffee ya want.”

“Trust me, he will.” Stan said flatly.

Ford kicked him under the table. Hard. Stan cried out.

“Can it, you two!” Caryn scolded them, “You’ll wake up Shermie. I don’t wanna have to deal with  _ three _ crying babies.”

The brothers finished their breakfast sullenly but quietly, and grabbed their backpacks before heading out the door.

“Think we should leave Shermie a note warning him to watch out for time travelers?” Stan asked as he fished out his keys to the STNLYMBL. “Y’know, for when he’s older?”

“Then Dipper and Mabel will be born later than 2000.” Ford reminded him irritably.

“Right.” Stan smacked himself. “Man, this sucks! Why time travel if we can’t make things better?”

Ford’s only reply was a surly sigh as he turned to the cafe next door.

“Hey, where’re you goin’?” Stan asked.

“To get some coffee!”

“Seriously, Sixer? Hot Belgian Waffles is  _ next door _ , Mrs. DuBios will rat you out to Ma for sure!”

Ford heaved an even more enraged sigh that bordered on a growl, and turned on his heal to get into Stan’s car, slamming the door shut.

“Whoa, easy, we’ll just stop by the donut place on the boardwalk.” Stan reassured him as he started the car. “What’s gotten into you?”

The scientist groaned and pulled his fingers through his curly brown hair. “I don’t know! Normally it’s simple to just focus on my intellect and control my emotions, but it just isn’t  _ working _ now for some reason!”

“‘Control’ your emotions, or bottle them up?” Stan muttered. Ford shot him a withering glare. “Shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Why do I keep doin’ that?”

“And the only reason I’m so mad in the first place is because I’m so tired!” Ford continued to rant, “I got  _ at least  _ four hours of sleep last night, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Heh, guess teen Ford isn’t used to old man Ford’s space-sleep schedule. Or lack of sleep schedule, anyway.”

Ford’s face brightened into his ‘a-ha!’ expression. “Stanley, that’s it!”

“What?” 

“The reason I’m having such a hard time regulating my emotions, and the reason you can’t keep your mouth shut even more than usual! We may still have our  _ minds _ from 2013, but our  _ bodies _ are teenagers in the middle of puberty. Our hormone levels are magnitudes higher than what we’ve become accustomed to.”

“Great. Goin’ through puberty again. Just what everyone wants outta time travel.”

They pulled up to the donut shop on the boardwalk. Stan poked around in his seat and found a quarter, which he handed to Ford. Suddenly, his brother looked unsure.

“Stan, maybe you should hang onto this. You’re going to need all the money you can get, come summer.”

“It’s a freaking  _ quarter _ , Poindexter.”

“Yeah, but a quarter is worth a lot more in 1969 than it will be in 2013! This is almost a whole gallon of gas!”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ten minutes ago you were about to have a meltdown because you couldn't get your morning coffee, just  _ buy  _ it, Ford!”

“Fine, but I’ll pay for it myself.”

“With what money, genius? You didn’t  _ have _ a job in high school because you were too busy with your academic science nerd stuff! Now go buy yourself a cup of coffee, or I’ll make you  _ walk _ the rest of the way to school.”

Ford frowned, but took the quarter. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as he got his cup of coffee. How could he or anyone else have ever said that Stan was the lazy one, when  _ Stan _ was the only one who’d ever had a ‘real’ job? Even to this day, Ford had never had what anyone would call a normal job, barring that one summer he’d been a lifeguard at a waterpark in a dolphin-dominant dimension. He’d always relied on scholarships and grants and accademia, which was hard work, in its own way, but still. It certainly wasn’t what his father would have called a real job. While traveling across dimensions, he’d relied on trading information and knowledge, building and selling inventions, and even, occasionally, stealing.

Stan was the one who’d gotten a minimum wage, part-time job selling popsicles on the beach. Stan was the one who’d entered local semi-pro boxing matches and brought home winnings. Stan was the one who’d saved up for his own car. 

“Ar-are you  _ crying _ !?” Stan exclaimed when Ford climbed back into the car, cup of coffee in hand. Ford reached up to wipe his eyes, surprised as his brother to find tears there.

“Oh geez, Stanford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, I just--” Stan began to babble.

“N-no, it’s not you.” Ford found his voice wavering as soon as he tried to speak. “It’s just-- gah, I’m so stupid! Stupid hormonal chemical imbalance!”

Ford tried to keep himself from crying anymore by taking a big gulp of coffee. It wasn’t very good, and it was just this side of warm, but it instantly improved his mood.

“Ah, there’s that good dopamine.”

“Better?”

“Much. Let’s go. I think we’re already late.”

Despite the fact that they were ten minutes late, there were still several students milling about when they arrived at the school. The twins felt like they should stick out like a sore thumb, but nobody paid them any mind. 

“Ugh, never thought I’d come back here.” Stan grumbled.

“Well, look on the bright side!” Ford reassured him, “Now that you’ve studied quantum physics and run your own business for thirty years, Math and Science classes should be a breeze!”

“Hey, yeah! I can’t  _ wait _ to see the look on Mr. Grauberger’s face when I can tell him exactly how much interest $300 will accumulate over 20 years!” But he paused. “Wait, what about changin’ the timeline? Pretty sure I never answered questions in class.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t make _ that much _ of a difference.” Ford scoffed. “Even if you get 100% on every quiz while we’re here, I don’t think it’d be enough to bring your grade up past a C, and you’ll be dropping out before graduation anyway.”

“Oh yeah….” Stan’s good mood quickly washed away.

Ford rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We know it all works out in the end.”

“Yeah…” Stan agreed, “but there was still a lot of heartache gettin’ there.”


	3. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get a second chance at high school life, and the drama that comes with it.

Stan was sullen as they left their morning math class.

“That was great!” Ford chuckled, “I thought Mr. Grauberger was going to spit out his dentures when you answered that tax-cut problem!” But he noticed his brother wasn’t laughing along. “What’s wrong?”

Stan fidgeted with his backpack strap. “Yeah, the look on his face was definitely worth it. It’s just…” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “The minute he passed out that quiz, I froze! I should  _ know _ that stuff, it’s finance, it’s what I’m actually good at, but I just couldn’t  _ think _ !” He scuffed his feet on the linoleum floor. “All this time, and I’m still just the dumb twin.”

Ford scowled. "That's not true. It doesn’t matter what some arbitrary scholastic test says, you’re smart! I never would have made it home if you weren’t!”

“I know, you’re right.” Stan gave a small smile, “I just... wish I could’ve proved it to  _ them _ .”

“They don’t matter.” Ford said shortly. “If it makes you feel any better, you can copy off my answers the next time you freeze on a test.”

“Yeah, just like the good ol’ days.” Stan chuckled sardonically. 

  
  


* * *

They tried to lie low through the rest of the day, not answering questions in class or talking to their fellow students. Neither of them really had any friends, outside of each other, which hadn’t been great for their social development, but at least it made things easier from a time-travel perspective. Nobody found it odd that the twins were keeping to themselves.

Of course, they didn’t have all the same classes together. Ford had advanced classes in Physics and Chemistry. Stan had an extra hour of PE that was basically just more time for boxing practice, and Choir, simply because it was an easy A. 

Stan was enjoying taking some of his frustration out on a punching bag in the weights room when a hulking figure, almost as wide as he was tall, stepped behind the sandbag.

“D’you mind?” Stan complained. He didn’t want to hit whoever was back there when the bag swung back.

“Well, well, Stan the lesser. Practicin' for tomorrow's match?” Crampelter’s ugly visage peeked from behind the bag.

“Ugh. I forgot they held you back a couple of years.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The bully demanded.

“You wouldn’t get it even if I explained it to you.” Stan smiled smugly.

Crampelter stepped up to Stan. He was still almost a head taller. “Your brother’s supposed to be the smart-mouth.”

“We’re trading shifts.” Stan replied flippantly, not even remotely intimidated. “Now do you wanna do this right now, or can we save it for the ring? Y’know, where I can get  _ paid  _ to punch your face in.”

“You’re just scared to take me without a ref!”

“Not even a little. I just need the cash. I got a parking ticket to pay, apparently.”

With that, Stan swung a powerful left hook into the punching bag, swinging it directly into Crampelter’s gut. The bully doubled over, and Stan took the opportunity to get out of there. While he  _ was _ confident he could take Crampelter even in a dirty fight, it really just wasn’t worth the trouble. 

He decided to skip Choir today and check on Ford. It seemed like their childhood bully was looking for a fight.

It took Stan a while to remember where Ford’s classroom was. He tried to just peek in quietly, but the teacher’s head immediately snapped to the door.

“He’s not here.” She said brusquely as soon as she saw who it was.

“Uh… d’you know where he went?”

“Said he needed supplies for his science fair project.” and with that, she returned to the board, where she was writing what Stan now recognized as the equation to calculate the gravitational forces two objects exert on each other.

There were a few places Ford could have gone to find supplies. First Stan checked the Chemistry lab and the art room. He finally found his brother in the auto shop, which was empty this time of day. When Stan opened the door, Ford was standing at the back of the room casually, with his best ‘innocent angel’ look.

“Oh, it’s just you.” the scientist went back to rummaging through the welding equipment as soon as he saw his brother.

“What are you doing!?” Stan hissed as he crossed the shop.

“Well I can’t fix the time tape using whatever dad’s got lying around.”

“Yeah, I get that part. But you could get kicked outta the science fair for stealin’ from the school!”

“As a wise man once said,” Ford flashed his brother a knowing grin, “ _ Only if I get caught _ .”

Stan couldn’t help but be a little proud, but there was too much at stake for that right now. “At least let me do it, I already swipe enough stuff that they’ll expect it, and it doesn’t matter if  _ I  _ get in trouble.”

Ford rolled his eyes but relented. “Knowing how the administration feels about you, even if I  _ did  _ get caught, they’d probably find a way to pin it back on you anyway.”

Stan took a look at the box Ford had been ransacking. “So whaddya need?”

“The smallest soldering iron you can find.”

“What kinda filling?” 

“It’s called solder.” Ford corrected him automatically, “Ideally, Lithium, but I know they’re not going to have it. Tin or Copper should suffice.”

“Anything else?”

“A face shield and anything else you can find that'll help working with small circuitry."

"Pretty sure Dad's got some jeweler's lenses in the pawn shop. If you tell him it's for the science fair project, he'll probably let you use ‘em."

Ford grimaced. “I’m worried if I ask to use any of dad’s tools, he’ll want to see how it’s coming.”

“So just show him the preliminary frame. It’s not like he actually gets how the perpetual motion machine is supposed to work. You can just hide the time tape in a drawer or something.”

Ford nodded reluctantly. “Well, I suppose I’d better leave, if we don’t want to get caught. I wish cell phones had already been invented; I’d text you if I thought of anything else I might need.”

“Pch, we never needed those pieces of junk before!” Stan scoffed. “Oh, wait! Before you go, I was lookin’ for you to warn you. I ran into Crampelter earlier, seemed like he was lookin’ for a fight, so, uh, might wanna watch your back.”

Ford flashed him a vicious smile. “Honestly? I welcome the opportunity.”

“Tryin’ to stick to the timeline, remember?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll try and stay out of his way, but if he comes after me…”

“Then you can use your 30 years of sci-fi survival skills to get out of there without causin’ a scene.”

“You’re no fun.” The scientist pouted.

“If I can’t leave Shermie a note, you can’t beat up Crampelter.”

Ford wanted to argue that one of those would alter the timeline significantly more than the other, but he also knew that Stan would not want to hear it. And besides, he really needed to get out of there before anyone else showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working up the later chapters. I'd written the last three chapters ahead of time, but now I'm pretty much caught up. Hopefully I have time to work on future chapters soon.


	4. A Nostalgia Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get an afternoon to reminisce about an old project.

**A Nostalgia Trip**

The end of the school day finally rolled around, and the twins met up at the STNLYMBL. Stan's bag was noticeably heavier and bulkier than it had been this morning. 

“Take a look through there and make sure I got everything you need.” Stan said as he handed his pack over to Ford.

The scientist pulled out three different sized spools of copper/nickel solder, and a thin, almost needle-like soldering iron.

“And these are the smallest spools they had?”

“Smallest I could find.”

Ford sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s an auto-shop in a high school. I’ll make it work.”

It was an unusually warm day for January, and they drove home in the melting slush. “Wait, stop here!” Ford commanded as they passed the beach. “I’m going to need fine sand for molding.”

Stan pulled into a nearby parking lot. Luckily he had a shovel in the trunk of his car, although he couldn’t remember why, and they found an empty paint can in a nearby dumpster they could use as a bucket.

Ford strode purposefully down to the edge of the surf, where the finest sand would be, when a dark shape at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

"Oh…" he breathed when he turned and saw several tarps that concealed what they were protecting from the wind and snow. He knew exactly what was underneath.

Stan came to a stop beside him, eyes locked on the same tarp-covered shape sitting just far enough up the beach that no waves reached it. They stood there in silence for a solid minute, their errand to collect sand completely forgotten.

"Great…" Stan finally spoke, reaching up and wiping his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve. "Guess it's my turn to get hijacked by hormones."

"Do… do you want to go give her a look over?" Ford asked hesitantly, "For old time's sake?"

Stan just nodded mutely.

They two of them strode solemnly to the tarp and gently removed the layers, revealing the almost-completed Stan’o’war underneath. It was so much smaller than either of them remembered, not even half the size of the repurposed tugboat they’d turned into the Stan’o’war II. The little schooner was just big enough to hold two teenage boys who had reached their full height, but not their full girth. 

Stan reached down and picked up the neatly folded sail sitting at the base of the mast. They’d originally just used some old bedsheets they had ‘rescued’ from the trash, but after doing some research and tests, Ford had found the soft, thin fabric wouldn’t hold up under the strain of a sail. So, over the past three years, they had been hunting down and saving every scrap of sturdy canvas they could find. Stan’d had to carefully stitch them together. That was when he’d first learned how to sew, a skill that had come in handy when he was living on the road, and when cobbling things together for the Mystery Shack.

Ford was appreciating the worn wood of the mast. When they’d first found the wrecked hull as children, most of the structure had rotted out, and they’d had to find a way to replace and attach new wood to the old planks and boards. He had researched old ship-building techniques, and learned a lot about woodworking along the way. He remembered using those woodworking techniques a lot later in life, to make repairs to his research cabin that would later become the Mystery Shack, and to build shelter, transportation, and weapons as he traveled the multiverse.

“D-d’you know what happened to her?” Stan eventually asked, pulling them out of their thoughts.

“...I’m not quite sure.” Ford admitted. “I know mom kept it because Shermie liked to play on it when he was little, but I didn’t ever go home after I got my degree, so… I don’t know what happened after he grew up.”

“Hmm.” Stan grunted in reply. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Should they call Shermie once they were out of this, and ask him what happened to it? Or was Stan better off not knowing?

The two of them stood in a pensive silence, taking in this unexpected opportunity to see their old childhood project one more time. They probably could have stayed there all evening, reminiscing and appreciating the hard work they’d put into the schooner, but it was winter, and the sun went down early in the afternoon. As the sun dropped, so did the temperatures.

“Come on, we’d better get that fine sand before we completely lose the light.” Ford finally said, pulling himself away.

* * *

Once they returned home, Ford traced out tiny circuit lines in the sand with a toothpick he'd filed to a fine point. He then melted the solder spool into the miniscule mold. 

"Ok, that will need to set all night, then I'll have to pick out all the sand grains and file down all the points and areas where it's leaked out of the mold."

"And how long will that take?" Stan asked.

"As long as I don't break it while I'm filing, another day."

"And if you  _ do  _ break it while filing?"

"Then I'll have to start over again and melt a new circuit into the mold. If I had a smaller soldering iron, I could just piece it back together, but this one is too big and clumsy."

"So what I'm hearing is we're  _ not _ gettin' back to our own time before my boxing match with Crampelter tomorrow."

"Probably not."

"Heh, looks like I get to pound that bully's face in one more time."

Ford turned away from his work desk. "I almost wish we could switch places for that."

"It's not worth the hassle." Stan shook his head. "Besides, I dunno if I have the heart to do that again after… y'know,  _ last time _ ."

"I did say  _ almost. _ " 

They shared a small chuckle, and Ford started climbing up to the top bunk.

“Kinda early for bed.  _ Especially  _ for you.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“And I didn’t bounce back from it nearly as well as I thought I would.”

“Guess all that junk they say about teenagers needin’ more sleep is true.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

* * *

Going to bed earlier seemed to have helped Ford’s mood, come morning. He wasn’t nearly as groggy and grumpy as he had been yesterday. He still insisted that Stan stop by the doughnut shop on the boardwalk for coffee on the way to school, but he at least had the good sense to swipe enough coins out of the change jar at home to pay for it himself.

Stan, for his part, seemed a little more confident going into school today. Perhaps it was because he was looking forward to the boxing match tonight. It was something familiar, something he and everyone else knew he was good at. 

It was another day of trying to lay low. Another day of coasting through classes. No one seemed suspicious of them. No one seemed to notice how Stan was actually answering questions in their math and science classes. No one seemed to notice that Ford actually managed to climb all the way to the top of the rope in PE. Stan wondered about it out loud to his brother at lunch.

“I believe it’s the timeline resisting change.” Ford mused quietly. “We know changing the greater flow of time is difficult, even when someone is actively attempting to change the past. So far, we’ve been going out of our way to keep things more-or-less the same, so perhaps the timestream just… diverts their attention elsewhere. It makes me wonder: what kind of enormous act would it take to make people notice? To actually alter the flow of time?”

“Ford, we’re not gonna test that theory.” 

“No, of course not. Not on this trip at least.”

  
Stan rolled his eyes. “I’d prefer not on any trip, but honestly I’d be worried there was something wrong with you if you  _ didn’t  _ say something like that.”


	5. Unintentional Roleswap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford get ready for the upcoming boxing match.

The rest of the day slipped by, and soon the boys were back home and Stan was getting ready for his boxing match against Crampelter. 

“Uugh, I don’t remember where I left anything in here!” Stan growled in frustration as he tore apart their room searching for his mouth-guard.

“Hey, careful where you’re throwing things, knucklehead!” Ford reprimanded his brother as he batted away a balled-up pair of socks that had been on a collision course with the microcircuitry he was currently working on.

“Sorry.” Stan grinned sheepishly. “How’s uh, how’s that comin’ along?”

“Well enough. I’m still in the process of filing off the excess points from the sand-mold. So far it hasn’t broken, but it’s very delicate work.”

“So… you’ll probably be too busy workin’ on that to come watch the match tonight, huh?” Stan failed to mask the disappointment in his voice. 

Ford smiled up at his brother. “It can wait a couple of hours. Once this thing is finished, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

“No, really, that’s more important. Ya don’t have to-- I shouldn’t’ve said nothin’--”

“Stanley,” Ford cut him off. “I want to go and support you.”

A warm smile slowly spread across Stan’s face. “Thanks.”

When another, more careful sweep of the room still didn’t locate Stan’s mouth-guard, they ran downstairs to continue searching. His mother was in the kitchen, feeding Shermie, and listening to the local weather report on the news.

“Ma, you seen my mouth-guard?” 

“In that pot on the stove. I cleaned it for ya. Since you forgot to again.”

Stan grinned sheepishly. “Thanks, Ma.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I love how affectionate you’ve gotten lately, but it’s makin’ me suspicious. What’re you up to, Stanley?”

“Nothin’!” Stan insisted. Which was technically true… sort of. What was he supposed to say?  _ It’s like this, Ma. I’m actually from the future, and the last time I talked to you, I was trying to explain why I had faked my death and was impersonating Ford. Also it was over twenty years ago from my perspective. _

“And Stanford, honey, the babysitter called an’ she’s run off to join the circus, so I’m gonna need you to keep an eye on Shermie while we’re gone, ok?”

The brothers exchanged a glance. The babysitter had probably just quit. Or maybe their mother forgot to call one in the first place. 

“A-actually, mom, I was hoping I could go watch the match tonight.” Ford said.

Caryn raised an incredulous eyebrow at the two teens. “Oh, you two are  _ definitely  _ up to something. After you quit boxing lessons, you said you never wanted to set foot in that building again.”

“I assure you, we aren’t up to anything.” Ford insisted. “There aren’t many matches left before… uh, before the end of the season, and...

She patted his arm. “Oh, you go have fun with your brother, I’ll stay here an’ watch Shermie this time. Don’t forget your coats, you two. There’s a storm blowin’ in, supposed to be freezin’ rain tonight.” She turned to Stan, “You drive careful, ok honey?”

“Yes Ma.” 

The twins were getting their coats out of the closet when Filbrick came upstairs from the pawn shop below.

“C’mon, we gotta go now if you want time to warm up before you hit the ring.” He grumbled brusquely. The old man paused when he saw Ford pulling on his coat. “What’re you puttin’ that on for?”

“I’m coming to watch the match.”

“No you’re not, you’re stayin’ here and workin’ on your science fair project.”

Ford clenched his fists and furrowed his brow. “Dad--”

“Oh, Filbrick, let him go.” Caryn called from the kitchen. “It’s just a couple of hours, if that. Everyone needs a break every once in a while.”

“He took a break yesterday afternoon, down at the beach!”

“I wasn’t taking a break, I needed sand to construct a mold.” Ford argued.

“It took ya a whole hour to collect sand, huh? Don’t play dumb, I know you two were working on your stupid boat.”

“It’s not stupid!” Ford shouted.

Filbrick’s usually stoic face betrayed a hint of surprise. He turned his head down a fraction of an inch, and while neither of the boys could see his eyes, they both got the distinct impression their father was checking their hands. Checking to see if they’d switched.

“And since when are you so quiet?” Filbrick asked Stan after a moment’s pause.

Stan froze up when his father turned to look at him. “Just… just savin’ my strength for the match.” He finally managed to force out.

Their father stared the two of them down for another eternal second before grabbing his keys with a huff. “Fine, come if you want. What do I care?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep putting out new chapters on a semiregular basis, but it is difficult to take time for writing these days. Sorry this chapter's so short.


	6. Everyone Loves an Underdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley VS Crampelter, FIGHT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I wrote this chapter, all I knew about boxing was from Wii Sports. And all the research I did for this chapter came from one Wikipedia article, so this is probably not the most accurate portrayal of boxing out there.

The brothers were eternally grateful that Stan had his own car, so they didn’t have to endure a painfully awkward drive with Filbrick to the gym where the boxing match would be held. Their father took his own Oldsmobile.

“Uh, is the gym on the corner of Beach and Poplar, or Beach and Poppy?” Stan asked as they stopped at an intersection.

“I don’t know, you spent far more time there than I did.” Ford shrugged. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember how to get there?”

“It’s been over forty years and last summer I got my memory erased, cut me some slack, Sixer!”

“Ok, ok, relax! You know it’s off of Beach Street, right? So we just need to find Beach and drive up and down it until we find the right building.”

“Right. I can do that.” Stan assured himself.

They only had to turn around once before they found the gym. Luckily, there were plenty of cars parked outside signalling they had found the correct building. There were obviously some highly anticipated matches tonight. Stan doubted most of them were here for him, though. A three-round match between a couple of minors was hardly the kind of stuff people were clamoring to see. 

“Did you two get lost on the way here?” Filbrick asked sarcastically.

“What? Hah, no!” Stan denied. “Ford thought he saw a UFO, we went a different route to see if we could get a better look at it.”

Ford rolled his eyes.  _ Sure, throw me under the bus. _

“You two need to stop wastin’ your time with that crap.” Filbrick grunted. “Now go get warmed up, or you’re gonna hurt yourself out there.”

“Good luck!” Ford told Stan as he made his way to the locker room.

“What, like I need it?” Stan called back.

Stanford followed his father into the stands, where they took a seat in the front row. A few spots had been reserved for the fighters’ family members and coaches.

“Hey there, Fil!” Stan’s coach said as he took a seat next to them. “Your Stanley sure likes to cut it close, doesn’t he? I mean, I know he’s more than a match for the Crampelter kid, but you’d think he’d give himself more than five minutes to warm up!”

“Yeah, he was busy goofin’ off with his brother here.” Filbrick inclined his head towards Ford.

“Oh, is that  _ Stanford _ ?” The coach asked sarcastically. “Yeah, I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long.”

Ford rolled his eyes. It hadn’t even been a year, and he would have quit sooner if his father hadn’t been so insistent that it was “teaching important life skills”. The teen had only been able to convince his father to let him quit when he brought home brochures explaining that State Science Fair winners often won scholarships.

“What’s it been, five months since you quit? I thought you traded in your boxing gloves for a lab coat and test tubes?”

“I’m just here to support Stanley.” Ford answered stiffly. 

“Sure, sure.” The coach turned his attention back to Filbrick. “Y’know, Fil, you’re a lucky guy. You got two very talented sons. One’s got all the brains, the other’s got all the brawn! Makes me wonder what’s left for the third one!”

The two men chuckled over the joke.

“Yeah, I  _ would  _ be lucky, if either of ‘em had the sense to put all that talent into something useful!” Filbrick replied. “Instead Stanley wastes all his winnings on that fancy car of his, and Stanford’s got his head in the clouds, dreamin’ about UFO’s and monsters. And they  _ both  _ waste all their time tinkerin’ with that old wreck they found on the beach. It was cute when they were little, but they’re both about to graduate from highschool! It’s high-time they grew out of it!”

“I’m right here.” Ford hissed.

“.. _.What was that _ ?” Filbrick asked, although it was clear he knew exactly what his son had just said.

“I’m sitting right here! I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking about me as if I wasn’t!”

The two older men stared at the teen for a moment, their shock apparent even in the dim light of the stands. 

“Finally standin’ up to your old man, eh?” Filbrick finally said. “Maybe you learned something here after all.”

The coach and Filbrick moved on to talking about the other matches that were taking place that night, leaving Ford to steam silently to himself.

_ I still have to live with him for at least another day. I’ll just have to bite my tongue until the Time Tape is fixed. Then I can say whatever I like to his gravestone. _

  
  
  


* * *

By the time Stan got changed into his boxing gear, he didn’t have a lot of time to warm up. But he was a limber, 17-year-old kid. If he could take on a horde of zombies without warning at the age of 63, he could go a few rounds with Crampelter after only five minutes of warm up.

It felt like significantly less than five minutes when the bell rang that signaled it was his turn in the ring. He took one last swig of water from the fountain, popped in his mouth guard, and walked out the door into the waiting crowd. His coach was waiting for him at the ropes. And just behind the coach, in the front row, were Ford and Filbrick. Stan tried to smile at his brother through the mouthguard. Ford chuckled and smiled back.

“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing our junior heavyweight match of the night!” the announcer called as the fighters entered the ring. “In the blue corner, weighing in at 254 pounds and six feet, seven inches tall, Dalton Crampelter!” There was a smattering of polite applause before the announcer continued “And in the red corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and 6 feet and an inch tall, Stanley Pines!” The crowd cheered. This may not have been the main event of the night, but people loved to see a little guy take on a big guy, even if Stan hardly qualified as a little guy in normal circumstances.

Crampelter glowered down at Stan as they both stepped to the center of the ring.

“Yhr hoing doon, Mines!” Ever the bully, Crampelter always had to get a taunt in, no matter how stupid he sounded trying to talk through his mouthguard. Stan just rolled his eyes and smirked.

The referee approached them, looking completely exasperated. He’d worked here since before these two rivals first started boxing lessons, and he knew their history. “Alright you two, I don’t want a repeat of last time. Don’t make me pull you blockheads appart. At least  _ try  _ to beat each other up within the established rules. I’ve lectured you both on them so many times, I shouldn’t need to repeat them again.”

"I hon't if he hon't." Stan mumbled.

Crampelter just sneered.

The ref stepped back and held up his hands. The bell rang, and the match started.

Stan made a jab for Crampelter right away. The bully had been expecting it, and blocked. They continued to exchange jabs for a few seconds, neither penetrating the other’s defenses, until Stan successfully faked Crampelter out, twitching his left hand down and popping the bully in his right temple the moment his guard was down. The ref blew the whistle.

“Hard blow to the head, point red!”

The two contestants stepped back. Stan could hear cheers from Ford and his coach behind him. He could also hear Crampelter’s coach yelling obscenities from across the ring.

They squared up again and the bell for the second round rang. This time, Crampelter came out swinging. Stan blocked the blow, but there was so much force behind it, it sent a jolt of pain through his arm.  _ That’s gonna bruise in the morning. _ He had to take a step back to keep his footing, and Crampelter took advantage of the momentary loss of balance to drive another punch in, this time aiming for Stan’s gut. He turned his body just in time to dodge the brunt of the attack, but the glancing blow to his ribs still hurt. 

Now Stan knew it was time to get serious. He feigned a trip, and when the bully tried to push him over, he surged forward and landed an uppercut to Crampelter’s jaw. The bully gave an enraged snort, and grabbed Stan’s offending arm. Crampelter shifted his weight forward, fully intending to push Stan down to the mat, as though this was a wrestling match, and squash him. 

_ So you wanna fight dirty, huh? Alright then. _

Stan pushed back against Crampelter for about a second before reversing directions without warning. He pulled the bully down with him and extracted his arm, rolling out of the way at the last second, so that his opponent landed hard on his shoulder. 

The ref blew his whistle again, and stepped forward to separate the two fighters. “Well, at least we got  _ one  _ round where you both fought fair.” he sighed. “Disqualified round due to illegal moves. No points!” The crowd cheered. They didn’t care if it was illegal, they were getting quite the show.

Stan and Crampelter were both breathing hard by the start of the third round. Stan’s right arm was throbbing where he’d blocked that harsh blow earlier, and he could tell from Crampelter’s stance that the bully’s shoulder was hurting him where he’d landed. 

_ Let’s hope I can end this in the next round. _

Both competitors rushed forward at the bell. Stan got a solid jab in at the sternum, but Crampelter was more concerned with his footwork. The bully stomped down hard on Stan’s right foot.

“Yah cheatin’ fonofah--” Stan mumbled through his mouthguard. He kneed his opponent in the shin, but that only seemed to make Crampelter mad. The hulking teen bodychecked Stan, glomming onto his head. 

Stan tensed up. He’d fought government agents and South American drug gangs and angry bikers. He knew how to come out on top in an unfair fight. He headbutted Crampelter, gaining himself a little bit of room as the bully reeled back from the blow. 

“Lef’ hook!” Stan shouted as soon as his arm had room to maneuver. His fist collided with Crampelter’s nose, making a satisfying  _ crack _ . 

The whistle blew for the final time. “Match point due to injury, victory red! Can we get a medic up here to set Crampelter’s nose?”

Stan spit out his mouthguard and grinned down at his family. He climbed down from the ring to the sound of applause. 

“Great match, kid!” His coach greeted him. “I mean, as your coach, I kinda have to tell you to not fight dirty like that, but hey, he started it, right? And you still came out on top!”

“Congratulations, Stanley.” Ford was at his side in a second, looking him over with concern. “But how’s your arm? It looked pretty bad from where I was sitting.”

“Don’t worry so much, Poindexter, I’m fine.” Stan assured him.

Filbrick simply gave a small nod of approval. “Good to see you can beat an overgrown gorilla boy.”

Stan gulped involuntarily. “Uh… thanks, dad.” He said with a forced grin. “Welp, we’re gonna head home!”

“Head home? But Somners and Epstein are fighting next!” The coach protested.

“Oh, uh, yeah, but, heh, my arm’s really been through the wringer tonight. I gotta get it patched up, y’know.”

“They got plenty of ice at the concessions stand.” Filbrick grunted. “Y’can’t go runnin’ home to ma to get coddled every time you have a rough match. Gettin’ hurt is part of the game, son.”

That was something Stan knew all too well. In the time between getting kicked out and moving to Gravity Falls, he’d occasionally take up prize fighting to earn a little extra money. He could never keep it up for long though. It was too rough on the body, especially when they paid you to take a fall, and the other guy thought the only way to “make it look convincing” was to actually beat the snot out of you. And of course, no matter how much they offered to pay him, it never seemed to be enough to cover a trip to the hospital.

“Well, I need to go home and work on my science fair project.” Ford interjected.

“Tough luck, you should’ve thought of that before you came out here tonight, Knucklehead.” Filbrick said caustically. 

Stan stared at his father like a deer in the headlights.  _ I got my own car, we can go home if we want!  _ He wanted to say it, but for some reason, his insides froze and his mouth glued shut in the face of his dad’s disapproval.

Ford put an arm around his shoulder. “Fine then. Let’s go get you some ice, Stan.”

The brothers made a beeline for the concessions stand, but once they got a bag of ice for Stan’s arm, Ford started pulling him towards the exit.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“But dad said--”

“Oh please, he probably won’t even notice for another round or two. And then what’s he going to do?”

“Probably ground us when he gets home.” Stan guessed. “Shout so loud the neighbors knock on the wall again.”

“Grounding will hardly matter once the Time Tape is fixed.”

“I mean, our past selves will still have to deal with it.”

“We were grounded plenty of times in the past. Once more won’t hurt.”

Stan climbed into his car and tried to figure out how he could hold the ice pack to his arm and still properly grasp the steering wheel.

“Perhaps I should drive.” Ford suggested.

Stan grit his teeth for a moment before finally sighing and trading spots with his brother. “Just don’t drive her like one of your crazy spaceships.”

“That would be impossible. Cars don’t have pitch or roll.”

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Stan winced as his arm gave a particularly painful throb.

“How’s your arm?” Ford asked in concern.

“Hurts more than I remember.” Stan admitted. “Course, I’ve had worse. Well, probably not by this point in my life, but I will have worse.” he rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, time travel is confusing.”

“Yes, the sooner we can get back to 2013, the better.” Ford agreed. “I don’t know how much longer I can take living with dad. I’ve already come dangerously close to snapping at him twice.”

“Yeah, same here. Not the snapping part, funny enough, but I really don’t think I can take much more of him.” Stan adjusted the ice bag on his arm. “Is there anything I can do to help speed that along?”

“Hmmm… you could finish filing off the points on the circuitry while I open up the original Time Tape’s casing and remove the burnt-out circuitry. Just be careful, it’s very fine detail work.”

“Sure. Anything to get back to our own time quicker. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see ma again, but…”

“Can’t say the same for dad and everyone else?”

“Yeah.”

Their mother was waiting for them when they arrived home, having already put Shermie to bed for the night.

“Oh, baby, what happened?” She asked when she saw the half-melted ice bag Stan was holding to his right arm.

“Heh, you should see the other guy!” He joked.

“I suppose that means you won your match?” 

“Yeah. Probably for the best you didn’t come, mom, it was a bloody one.”

“Only when you broke Crampelter’s nose.” Ford amended with a snicker.

“Well, what happened to your arm?”

“Heh, I blocked a punch that felt like the giant put all of his weight into.” Stan explained. “Then in the next round, when I popped him with an uppercut, he grabbed the same arm and tried to push me down. I had to twist it around a lot to get out of there, and I think that made the bruising worse.”

Caryn heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t know why you keep on fighting in these boxing matches. You’re gonna get yourself really hurt one of these days!”

Stan shrugged. “It’s fun. And it’s good money. I’ll be able to pay off my parking ticket now.”

“Well, there’s that at least.” She turned to Ford. “And Stanford, honey, did you have fun?”

“Er…  _ fun  _ isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.” Ford grimaced. “But I  _ am  _ glad I went.”

“Oh good. And lemme guess. Your father stayed to watch the other matches tonight?”

“Yeah.” The boys answered in unison.

Their mother rolled her eyes. “Guess I’d better wait up for him too.” She switched on the TV and sat on the couch.


	7. History Repeats Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get working on the Time Tape, Stan has an accident, and Filbrick comes home.

The boys resumed working on the Time Tape right away. Ford showed his brother how to carefully use the tiny file to grind off the excess bits of metal from the miniscule framework of circuitry. Once Stan got started on his own, the young genius got to work taking apart the Time Tape’s casing, and preparing to replace the circuitry. As they worked, the only sound was the scraping of the file and their mother taking the occasional call for her phone psychic business downstairs. 

Ford was trying to tease the damaged circuits out of their casing with the tweezers he’d used to clean the sand off the new circuits. After a few failed attempts, he threw them down in frustration.

“Where are my needle-nosed pliers!?” He shuffled through all the tools and parts that had accumulated on his desk.

Stan shrugged, then winced as his arm throbbed again.

When another few minutes of exasperated searching didn’t turn up anything, Ford decided to head back downstairs and see if there was a pair among their father’s tools.

“Hey, gimme another ice pack while you’re down there?” Stan requested. The ice bag he’d been using had become nothing more than a sweaty bag of lukewarm water.

“Sure.” Ford nodded as he left the room.

Since the bag no longer soothed his aching arm, Stan picked it up and plopped it into their trash bin before resuming his task of filing down the new circuitry. The water from the bag coated his fingers, making his grip slippery. The next time his right arm throbbed with pain, his fingers twitched, and the file slipped out of his hand. He instinctively grabbed it with his left hand… and snapped the circuitry he was holding in half in the process.

Stan just stared down at his hands blankly for a couple of seconds before what he’d done sunk in. “...Crap…” he breathed. His stomach twisted and his heart rate skyrocketed.  _ Way to go, screw-up, you’ve ruined one of your brother’s important projects yet again! _

No. No, this wasn’t going to be like that. Stan looked around frantically, for a place to hide the evidence, for an escape route, he wasn’t sure. Then his eyes fell on the soldering iron. Of course! After thirty years of rebuilding the Portal, he knew how to use one of those! He could still fix it! Sure, Ford had said it was too big for such delicate work, but Stan was willing to try anything at this point.

He laid the circuitry back down in the sand mold as carefully as his shaking hands would allow. It wasn’t a perfect fit, many of the sand grains had been picked away by the first molding, but it would have to do for now. He held the soldering spool and the hot iron just a few millimeters above the first break in the circuitry. He tried to hold his hands steady as a molten drop of metal dripped into the sand, but his emotions were running away with him. His thoughts kept on circling,  _ screw-up, screw-up, screw-up,  _ repeating on an endless loop in his head. His breath was coming in irregular gasps, and his vision was blurring. Instead of sealing the break, the drop of metal was just a couple of millimeters off target.

“C-c’mon!” Stan grunted, sticking the tip of the soldering iron into the molten drop and dragging it to the break in the circuit, like one would drag a fountain pen through a drop of ink. All he ended up doing was melting the metal on either side of the break.

“No. No! No no no!” Stan’s frustration and fear bloomed into anger, and he slammed the soldering iron down on the desk, leaving a scorch mark in the hard plastic surface and snapping the tip of the iron right off. He stared mutely at the smoldering tip as it slowly burned a hole in the carpet. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

His instincts were telling him to run, but what good would that do? He was still trapped in the past with Stanford, and he’d just sabotaged their chances of fixing the thing they needed to get home. How would Ford react when he found out?

_ It won’t be like with the science fair. _ The logical part of Stan’s brain reasoned.  _ You’ve both learned from your mistakes and grown since then. _

But Stan had never been very good at listening to the logical part of his brain. The rest of his brain could only remember all the times he’d messed up before, and how his life always seemed to start a death spiral from there.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and froze. He’d run out of time.

“I’ve got your ice pack. Sorry I took so long, the needle-nosed pliers were all the way down in the pawn shop. I guess dad needed them to work on an old clock someone--” Ford stopped short when he took in the devastated expression on his brother’s face. “What happened?”

“I--I--” Stan stammered, struggling to form coherent words, much less describe what he’d done. “I’m sorry-- my hand slipped-- I didn’t mean to-- no, no excuses-- I tried to  _ fix  _ it, I swear!”

“Hey… hey, it’s ok.” Ford rushed forward and wrapped his brother in a hug.

“It’s  _ not  _ ok!” Stan cried. “We need to go home, and I just ruined the thing we need to do that!”

Ford glanced over his brother’s shoulder and took in the broken circuitry and the snapped soldering iron. He quickly unplugged the iron before it caught anything on fire, but then returned to comforting his brother. 

“Stanley, it’s ok, it was just an accident.”

Stan frowned down at the ground. “It’s always an accident.”

Ford gently took his brother by the shoulders. “It was delicate, I could have snapped it just as easily.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. You didn’t break the iron either.” Stan held his head in his hands and gave a hollow laugh. “I could’ve burned the house down. That’d be a new low, even for me.”

“You need to stop beating yourself up so much. Nothing was broken that can’t be fixed.” Ford assured him. “I told you I can form the circuits again, it’ll only take a couple of days and a new soldering iron.”

Stan groaned. “Yeah, nothing that can’t be fixed except the school's property.”

Ford scoffed. “I literally  _ could not _ care less about the school’s property.”

“And your desk.”

“Trust me, I’ve burnt plenty of holes of my own in that desk.”

Stan just swallowed back tears and leaned into his brother’s shoulder.

Ford patted his back awkwardly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry I always got so irate all those other times, but I’ve learned my lesson since then.”

Stan was maybe on the verge of feeling better when they both heard the familiar sound of an oldsmobile pulling into the parking space behind the pawn shop. Filbrick was home, with his usual sense of timing. Ford could feel his brother tense in his arms.

“...Maybe he went out for drinks with the coach and he’ll just go straight to bed.” The young genius hoped. Thankfully their father was more of a sleepy drunk than an angry drunk.

The heavy footfalls coming up the stairs didn’t sound like a tired, drunken stagger. They heard a muted conversation between their parents, and then the footsteps continued up the second flight of stairs to their attic bedroom.

Ford held the ice pack up to Stan’s face.

“Wha-- Ford, what the heck?”

“It’ll mask any swelling or redness from… your hormone-induced emotional outburst.” They didn’t have time to argue over whether or not Stan had just been crying.

The heavy footsteps stopped, and the door swung open. Filbrick was barely an inch taller than them at this point, and yet his impassive face loomed over them like a colossus. 

“You two left without tellin’ me. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Not worried enough to come looking for us, apparently.” Ford answered flippantly. 

“I had to go use the payphone to call your Ma when neither of you came back in time for the Somners fight!” He informed them. “So not only did I spend money I shouldn’t’ve had to, I cut into her precious client time. You know she can’t take customers during the day anymore because of the baby!”

“Oh…” Ford had forgotten about that particular detail. “Sorry.” He was mostly sorry for his mother. “It was my fault, I was really anxious to get back to my science fair project.”

“And you,” Filbrick turned to Stan, who quickly lowered the ice from his face. “You left without collectin’ your pay! What kind of imbecile does that!? I had to collect it for you.”

“Oh, heh, whoops!” Stan forced on his best con man smile. “Guess I must’ve hit my head one too many times in the ring.”

“How many times have I got to tell you boys?” Filbrick shook his head. “All the brains or charm in the world can’t buy you a meal in your stomach or a roof over your head. What’s it gonna take for you two to man up and start takin’ your futures seriously?”

The two brothers remained silent, both knowing better than to try and answer this rhetorical question. Still, the irony was not lost on them. 

“Well, since you’re obviously not responsible enough to handle this money on your own, I think I’ll hang onto those winnings I picked up for you. Taking out the cost of the payphone, any potential revenu your mother might’ve lost while I was on the phone with her, and a holder’s fee, there should be just enough left for me to pay off your parking ticket.”

“Th-thanks, dad.” Stan said meekly.

“Don’t  _ thank  _ him, he’s taking money that’s rightfully yours!” Ford said indignantly.

“ _ Ford _ !” Stan hissed, elbowing his brother hard in the ribs. He cast a wary glance up at their father. “H-he didn’t mean it!”

Filbrick stared down his rebellious son, his expression as unreadable as ever behind his dark glasses. Ford glared right back, unwavering.

“Let me clear something up for you, smart guy.” Fibrick growled. “You live under  _ my  _ roof.  _ My _ sons. My  _ dependents.  _ So until you two turn 18, any money either of you make is technically mine. You’re just lucky me and your Ma make enough that we don’t need to take any of it from you.”

Stan squeezed his brother’s arm tightly and whispered in his ear. “Ford, please,  _ don’t _ . Just let it go.  _ Please _ .” He wasn’t sure if he was pleading with his brother not to correct their father’s grammar, or his understanding of how parental stewardship and dependents worked. Thankfully, Ford lowered his gaze and nodded.

Filbrick nodded stoically back. “And clean this room up, it smells like burnt plastic in here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people interpret Filbrick as being a physically abusive parent, but I personally don't think so. Not only is there no evidence for it in the show (sure, it's Disney, that probably couldn't have gotten past S&P) but I also feel like that takes away from how harmful emotional and verbal abuse can be. There's kind of a stigma out there that abuse only counts if it's physical. That's not true.
> 
> On a related note, I also think Filbrick probably thought of himself as an OK parent. It's pretty clear from the flashbacks we see in the show, and Stan's own attitude towards them, that he thought his actions were for his sons' own good. That can also stem from an "It's only abuse if it's physical" attitude. I imagine he probably thought "I'm not a bad parent. I don't hit my kids. I make sure they're ready for how tough the real world is."
> 
> But hey, that's just my interpretation. I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter.


	8. Who's a Threat Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has some bad luck and Ford gets some revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we finally get to the scene I first envisioned when I decided to write this fic. It was loosely inspired by a post by a-tale-of-two-stans over on Tumblr. Obviously my idea ended up being quite different, but I still slipped in some of the dialogue. 
> 
> https://a-tale-of-two-stans.tumblr.com/post/187648109860/wheeze-i-thought-about-a-time-travel-thing-where

Morning came cold and cloudy. The storm last night had left a fine layer of ice over everything, which in turn was hidden under another layer of snow. Dangerous driving conditions, which Stan would normally take as an excuse to stay home all day. Not today though. No, today they had a very important mission. Thankfully, they only had to drive as far as the high school, and the poor road conditions meant they would probably be the only ones there, leaving very little chance of being caught.

“Why did you have to buy such a conspicuous car?” Ford complained as Stan parked the Stanleymobile as best he could behind one of the school’s dumpsters.

“Hey! This baby’s a classic, and easily the best purchase I’ve ever made!” Stan defended. “She’s gotten me through some of the roughest patches of my life!” Although, Stan would be lying if he said he’d never thought the same thing to himself. There had definitely been some points in his life where driving a car that blended into the traffic more easily would have saved him some trouble. “And besides, we’re just breaking into the school on a Saturday. Even if there were people out in this weather to see us, who would even care?”

“I just don’t want to attract any undue attention.” Ford grumbled. 

They made it to the autoshop’s door with minimal slipping and sliding. Stan picked the lock with ease, and they began searching for another small soldering iron. 

“If we can’t find another iron of the same size, I may have to just make one myself.” Ford mused as he perused another box. They were all too big. “On the positive side, I’d be able to make one the perfect size for the microcircuitry, but on the negative side, it would add yet another day to our stay here.”

“Well, let’s hope we can find a little one here then.” Stan said, pulling out a drawer and dumping its contents onto a workbench. “The sooner the better, right?”

Ford hummed in agreement. Their search was much more thorough that the one they’d conducted during the school day earlier in the week. They had no fear of discovery while the school was empty. Still, they searched two whole supply closets, and couldn’t find a similarly sized soldering iron.

Their hunt for the tool paused when they heard a car’s engine zoom right past the shop’s door.

“It’s, uh, probably just some kids spinning cookies in the snow.” Stan reasoned nervously.

“Probably…” Ford agreed, although his posture was still tense.

“I’ll just go check, to be sure.” Stan offered, edging towards the shop door. “While you keep looking.”

“Alright. Just don’t get caught. We’re in enough trouble with dad right now as it is.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Stan rolled his eyes as he slipped out the door.

Searching the final supply closet took longer with just one person, and still no luck! Ford carefully surveyed the room, trying to think where the teacher would hide the nicer tools so rowdy highschools students wouldn’t break them. His eyes landed on the bottom drawer of the teacher’s desk. Bingo! It had a small lock built into it. The scientist had done his fair share of lock picking during his interdimensional travels, and while he still wasn’t as practiced as Stan, something like this was hardly a challenge. 

His breaking and entering was rewarded with the soldering iron he’d been searching for! It was even smaller than the one Stan had accidentally snapped, although it was still larger than Ford would have preferred. Still, it would get the job done. 

  
  
  


* * *

Despite the thick clouds still hanging in the sky, Stan had to squint against the rising sun’s light as it reflected off every flake of snow on the ground. The parking lot  _ looked  _ empty. In fact, it looked just like he’d left it just fifteen minutes ago. 

Wait, no. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a fresh set of tire tracks in addition to his own. The parking lot had been an unmarked blanket when they’d first arrived, so someone was definitely there. What’s more, the tracks went straight around the back to the teacher’s parking area; no cookies or fishtails or any other skids that Stan would expect from a student looking to have some fun in the snow. So whoever was here was probably a teacher. 

The old man in a teen’s body sighed. Just his luck. He didn’t remember any of their teachers being this dedicated. 

He followed the tracks, hoping to figure out who they belonged to. Depending on the teacher, Stan might be able to talk his way out of this. As he peeked around the corner, he was surprised to see a car he recognized, but not one that belonged to any of the teachers. He’d seen it just last night, at the boxing match.

Crampelter’s car. Well, Stan was pretty sure it was his parents’ car, the guy didn’t have the patience to save up for his own car, but that's besides the point. This was the car Crampelter would drive around in. The goon had probably seen the Stanleymobile parked behind the dumpster and decided to come harass the twins. Stan turned on his heel and ran back towards the auto shop to warn Ford, but he didn’t make it very far before he slipped on the ice. 

Luckily, Stan recovered from having the wind knocked out of him much more quickly than he was expecting. Unluckily, before he could pick himself up, a foot stepped heavily onto his upper back. Several sharp points dug into his winter coat.

“Just the guy I was lookin’ for!” Crampelter sneered.

“Hello to you too.” Stan mumbled into the snow. 

Two more figures stepped into Stan’s limited field of vision. Oh great, Crampelter’s lackeys. And they all had plastic ice cleats strapped to their snow boots. He quickly pulled his hands in close, to prevent the jerks from stepping on them. 

“It’s about time I reminded you of your place, Stan the lesser!” The bully snarled. “You really thought you could get away with breakin’ my nose?”

Stan did note with some satisfaction that although he couldn’t see the bully’s face from where he was lying in the snow, Crampelter’s voice  _ was  _ much more nasally than usual. 

“‘S part of the gig, kid.” Stan shrugged. “Y’know what they say. If ya can’t take the heat, get outta the kitchen.”

“I’m two years older than you!” Crampelter shouted indignantly. 

“Oh, right.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talkin’ about!” the bully whined. “I’m tired of you not takin’ me seriously anymore! I’m gonna make sure you never forget that I’m a threat!”

“Yyyyeah, you’re really not.” Stan rolled his eyes.

Crampelter growled with rage and shifted his weight forward, digging his ice cleats further into Stan’s back before releasing his foot. Stan sprung up to strike the bully, but the lackeys each grabbed an arm before he could land a blow.

“What, afraid you can’t take me one on one?” Stan taunted.

“This isn’t about proving who’s the better fighter.” Crampelter chortled. “It’s about teaching you your place.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Stan had plenty of experience fighting three on one, heck, even more than that, and most of the time those people had guns or at least knives. He dropped to his knees, knocking the two lackey’s heads against each other in the process. Once free of their grasp, he sprang back to his feet with an uppercut to Crampelter’s jaw. He felt a tug on the back of his coat; the lackeys had recovered faster than he’d expected. Stan simply shrugged the coat off and swung his arm backwards, catching one goon with a hard backhand. The other one tried to grab Stan’s arm again, but he wound up and punched that guy with the other arm. 

With all three of the bullies reeling, Stan made a run for it. Over the years the main thing he’d learned about what to do when people ganged up on you was to get out of there as soon as possible. 

“Coward!” Crampelter shouted after him.

Stan flipped him the bird over his shoulder. “Better a coward than a guy with a broken nose!”

Unfortunately, luck was rarely on Stan’s side, and today was no exception. Before he even ran three feet, he slipped on the ice again, and this time he hit his head on impact. When his vision cleared, three ice cleats were digging into his back. Stan struck out with his arm, trying to knock over whoever’s leg he could reach, but they had too much traction to be knocked over from this angle. 

The lackeys didn’t bother letting him up and holding him by his arms this time. The three of them just stomped down on him with their ice cleats, kicking snow in his eyes whenever he tried to squirm away. While it wasn’t the worst beating Stan had ever received in his life, it still felt like being on the wrong end of a meat tenderizer. Without his coat, the ice cleats tore through his shirt and into his skin, leaving stinging scrapes across his back and arms.

Eventually the three bullies were satisfied that Stan was too dazed to fight back, and Campelter hoisted him up by his shirt collar.

“Whaddaya think, should we cram him in the freak’s locker to find on Monday?” One of the lackeys asked with a snicker.

“Nah, he’s too big to fit anymore.” Crampleter scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard. “Oh! I know!” He turned back towards his car.

The other lackey sneered and popped open the trunk. 

Stan’s heart leapt into his throat.  _ Not again! _ He tried to break out of Crampelter’s grasp with renewed vigor, but the lackeys each clamped down on his arms. The three bullies roughly escorted him to the open trunk and shoved him in. The panic began to overtake him as they began to shut the door, and he wildly flailed about, trying to wedge it open with his legs. Crampelter kicked him in the calf, and his legs reflexively curled in pain, allowing them to shut him in. 

Stan could do nothing but bang his fists and feet against the roof of the trunk as his breaths came in shorter and shorter gasps, until it felt like he couldn’t think or breath at all.

  
  
  


* * *

Ford waited a couple of minutes for Stanley to come back after finding the correct tool. Their search wouldn’t exactly be a success if the soldering iron was confiscated by a teacher immediately after he found it. The fact that Stan hadn’t come back immediately suggested that there was indeed a teacher out there. Stan was probably hiding to escape notice. 

After a solid ten minutes of waiting, Ford began to worry. Surely Stan would have been able to sneak past any teacher by now. Unless he’d been caught? Perhaps he was causing a distraction so that Ford could get away? 

The young scientist carefully cracked the door open and peered out into the parking lot. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the bright winter sunlight, but it was clear that his brother wasn’t just waiting out there with a snowball. At least there weren’t any teachers out there either. Ford made sure the soldering iron was zipped securely inside his bag, flipped off the lights, and stepped outside, making sure the lock clicked behind him. 

Now, to find Stan. His brother’s footprints followed a second set of tire tracks around to the back of the building. Ford cautiously followed them and peeked around the corner, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Crampelter and two lackeys sitting on the trunk of an old car. From where the young researcher was standing, he could just barely hear the occasional  _ thump  _ over the bullies’ mocking laughter. 

It was like the whole world ground to a halt. In that instant, the rest of the universe outside of this parking lot didn’t exist. All concerns about the timeline and returning to the future just melted away. The only thing that mattered was getting Stanley out of there and away from those neanderthals. 

“Let him go!” Ford commanded as he marched menacingly towards them. The three bullies looked up with a start.

“Should’ve known you’d be shadowin’ him, freak.” Crampelter sneered. “Hey, you’re pretty scrawny, I bet we could fit you in here too.”

“Just try it.” Ford said in a dangerously calm tone. “I’ve faced unimaginable horrors twenty-six times your size and didn’t even flinch. You are a child with the IQ of a peanut and I can beat you without even lifting a finger”

Crampelter chortled. “Yeah, I’m so sure! After nine years of boxing lessons you never learned to even throw a real punch, but today’s the day you’re gonna beat all three of us up!”

“Let me put this in simple terms you can understand.” Stanford said slowly. “You let my brother go, or I will break every one of your fingers.”

The lackeys exchanged a glance. Something about their old victim had changed. There was a new, cold glint in his stare and a confidence in his stance that was completely different from Stan’s usual casual bravado. Cramplelter, however, took no notice of these changes. He just rushed forward with a raging yell, winding up a huge haymaker. 

Ford watched the clearly telegraphed punch and ducked under it with ease. He crouched down and gently pushed up on Crampelter’s stomach with his shoulder, which combined with the bully’s forward momentum, sent the lunk flying over Ford’s back. He spun around and backed up a few steps, keeping all three aggressors in his sight. 

Crampletler picked himself up off the ground, spitting out snow and ice, his eyes blazing with fury. Someone smarter might have noticed that just charging in wildly hadn’t worked last time, so it probably wasn’t going to work again. However, Ford’s earlier assessment of his IQ wasn’t too far off. 

The bully bolted forward again, this time attempting an uppercut. Ford reached out and batted the jab aside, grabbing his attacker’s wrist in one hand, and his face with the other. Crampelter cried out in pain as Ford’s fingers clenched down on the bully’s already broken nose. Once again, Ford used his opponent’s weight against him, and sent Crampelter crashing into his lackeys. 

“D-don’t just stand there gawkin’,  _ get him!”  _ Crampelter demanded. 

The lackeys charged forward, slightly more cautious than their boss had been. They tried to surround Ford, but he was too fast for them, ducking around them or jumping back whenever one tried to get behind him. Eventually, one was brave enough to try a straight-arm punch. Ford grabbed onto his arm and swung him into the other guy, crashing them both to the ice. The lackeys, now thoroughly intimidated, decided that they’d had enough, and fled. 

Crampelter’s face contorted with rage. This time, he just outright tackled Ford. The young scientist thrust forward his forearm, catching the charging bully by the shoulder. Ford took Crampelter’s head in his hands, craning the bully’s neck down and to the side, throwing him off balance and toppling him to the ground. 

With the other two gone, this time Ford was free to position Crampelter into an arm-bar. He pulled the bully’s wrist back, and he was sorely tempted to follow through on that threat to break all his fingers. It would take too long, though, and he needed to get Stan out of that trunk  _ now _ . So he had to settle for stomping down on his tormentor’s hand. 

When Ford threw open the trunk, it was obvious that Stan was in the throes of a panic attack. His eyes were wide open and staring blankly, his breaths came in short shallow gasps, he was sweating despite the cold winter air, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Well, the shivering might have been from more than just the panic attack. Ford spotted Stan’s discarded coat lying on the ground and scooped it up, shaking most of the snow off of it before gently wrapping it around Stanley’s shoulders. 

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.” He assured his brother softly, half lifting, half helping him out of the trunk. “Let’s get you back home where it’s warm.”

The two brothers staggered back to the Stanleymobile, leaving a completely dumbstruck Crampelter lying in the snow.


	9. The Temporal Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally come to a head with Filbrick, and the story takes an abrupt turn.

Stan and Ford were able to drive home and make their way up to the bathroom to clean themselves up without incident. Crampelter and his thugs had scratched Stan up with their cleats, but luckily he wasn’t bleeding. The only blood came from Ford’s knuckles. His inexperienced baby hands weren’t used to this kind of punishment, and his already winter-dried skin had cracked.

“How do they feel?” Stan asked worriedly as he gently washed the cuts. Rookie boxers had been known to break bones in their hands if they punched too hard before they’d built up a resistance to that kind of wear and tear.

“It just stings.” Ford assured his brother, although his grimace hinted it hurt more than he let on. "What about you? You're the one who just got beaten into the ground."

Stan gave an offended snort. "Don't give that bozo too much credit. He just got lucky when a fall knocked the wind outta me, and then he never gave me the chance to recover."

"Yes, and then he proceeded to recreate one of the most traumatic moments of your life."

"What, gettin' shoved in a car trunk?" Stan chuckled. "Please. Between gettin' kicked out, losing you to the portal, Weirdmageddon, and gettin' my memory erased, that doesn't even crack the top ten anymore."

"If you're trying to be reassuring, it's not working." Ford tried to joke, but tears rolled down his face. He wiped away at them and hissed as the salt made his cracked knuckles sting even more. "Gah, why can't I _ stop crying? _ "

"I dunno, I don't remember you being this much of a baby before." Stan teased him good-naturedly. "Now quit rubbing your eyes and let me bandage those knuckles properly."

Stan rubbed in a bit of disinfectant cream as carefully as he could. Ford still flinched and hissed; his teenaged body obviously had a lower pain tolerance. They were both concentrating so hard on applying the bandages that they didn’t notice Filbrick approaching.

“What did you do?” Their father loomed disapprovingly in the bathroom doorway.

The twins exchanged a quick glance. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, they had stolen from the school, but Filbrick had no way of knowing that just from walking in on them bandaging Ford’s hands. So why was he frowning down on them like he’d just caught a couple of kids with their hands in the cookie jar?

“...Ford fought off Crampelter.” Stan finally said with a cautious smile. Their dad was always telling Ford he needed to man up and fight back. Surely, he’d be proud to learn his eldest son had finally done just that.

But no. Filbrick remained as cold and unimpressed as ever. He shook his head scornfully and scowled at Stan. “You’re only good for one thing around here, and you can’t even do that right.”

Stan recoiled like he’d just been slapped in the face with a wet fish. He felt Ford start to stand up beside him, and he wanted to pull his brother back, to tell him to let it go, to just save it for the  _ right time.  _ But like every other encounter with Filbrick’s ire, Stan froze, paralyzed with fear of what their father might do to him.

Ford, on the other hand, felt none of that fear. He’d been struggling to keep his temper in check around his father for the past few days, and here was where his patience finally snapped.

_ “Only good for one thing!?”  _ the young genius fumed. “You don’t even have an  _ inkling  _ of what Stanley is capable of! You can’t even begin to conceptualize the lengths he’ll go to, the  _ things he’ll sacrifice _ for this family! Meanwhile, all  _ you’ve  _ ever done was try to measure us against each other, when all either of us wanted to do was please you! But it’s a fool’s errand! Even when I’m winning national awards and earning multiple PhD’s, all you’ll do is criticize and complain that I’m not bringing in enough money, because  _ you will never be satisfied.”  _ His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “Stanley is  _ ten times _ the man you’ll ever be.”

A tense silence filled the air as Ford’s rant sunk in. Filbrick was visibly shaken by his son’s sudden outburst. The longer the silence stretched, the higher Stan’s heart-rate climbed. How was their father going to react?

“Get out.” Filbrick finally hissed, barely holding together his stoic facade over the indignation. “You don’t like the way I parent? You don’t gotta stick around to see it, then! Get outta my house, you ungrateful brat!”

Stan’s paralysing fear morphed into activating panic. “Dad, you can’t!”

“Since when do you get a say in what I can and can’t do?” Filbrick growled.

“I won’t let you do this to Ford!” Stan stepped between his brother and his father.

Their father looked down on him incredulously. “I promised myself I’d never lay a hand on either of you. Never let myself do to you like my pop did to me. You’re makin’ it _ really hard  _ to keep that promise right now.”

“Dad, listen to me!” Stan pleaded. “If you do this, if you kick either of us out, you’ll live to regret it. You’re gonna spend every day wishing you’d done differently, even if you never admit it to anyone until you’re on your deathbed.”

“Shut up!” Filbrick yelled, finally snapping. 

Stan closed his eyes and braced himself for his father’s next string of insults… but it never came. He peeked an eye open, only to see his father’s face frozen mid-shout.

Stan looked over his shoulder at his brother. Ford looked just as stunned, and he pointed wordlessly to the bathroom faucet. A drop of water had stopped just short of hitting the basin below.

“What the H--?” Stan wondered.

“This is the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad!” A deep voice commanded from just down the hall. “Come out with any muskets or pet rocks where we can see them!”

The brothers shared a bewildered glance. 

“ _ Now _ they show up?” Ford said with surprise.

“I guess we just found out what kind of enormous act it takes to change the timeline.” Stan concluded.

They carefully stepped around their father’s paused form, hands in the air placatingly. Two big, buff time agents were standing at either end of the hall, blocking any hope of making a run for it. They each wore name tags that read Lolph and Dundgren. 

“We didn’t purposefully come back here to alter the time steam.” Ford explained calmly. “I was simply attempting to fix a malfunctioning time tape. It misfired, sending us back to this time and place. I’ve been trying to repair it so we could return to our own time.”

“Where is the malfunctioning time tape?” Dundgren asked.

“In my desk, upstairs.” Ford answered. “Second drawer from the top, underneath my methods paper.

Dundgren gestured to Lolph, who pounded up the stairs to find it.

“And why did the two of you start telling your father about his future?” Dundgren interrogated.

The twins exchanged a grimace. They  _ had  _ started doing that, hadn’t they? It all sort of just slipped out.

“...was trying to make a point…” Ford muttered lamely.

Dundgren’s glare made it clear that wasn’t an acceptable excuse.

“Hey, we’ve had to put up with that jerk all week!” Stan defended. “He finally pushed Ford too far, and we snapped! You would too, if you had to deal with him!”

“Hmmm, maybe so.” The time traveler admitted as he examined Filbrick’s frozen form. “He looks like a real piece of work.”

“I found the device.” Lolph declared as he returned from upstairs.

“Great, can we go home now?” Stan asked.

Dundgren ignored him and took the broken device. After looking it over carefully for a moment, he pulled out his blaster and disintegrated it.

“Hey!” Stan cried.

“Relax, Stan.” Ford reassured him. “I’m sure they have their own functioning models.”

“Correct.” Lolph said as he and Dundgren took out their own time tapes, grabbed each brother by the shoulder, and warped them away in a flash of brilliant blue light. 

The four of them now stood in their attic bedroom. Stan briefly wondered why they had to time warp just to go upstairs, when he glanced at the calendar above Ford’s desk. January 15th, 1969. The day they’d arrived.

Lolph looked down at a watch-like device on his wrist. “Aaaaand… reset!”

Dundgren nodded. “Good. Now that we’ve undone all the damage you did, you’re under arrest for violation of the Time Traveler's Code of Conduct!”

“What!?” Stan protested, “But it wasn’t our fault!”

“But, since you’re the ones who defeated Bill Cipher, and you were at least  _ trying _ to avoid changing the timeline, we won’t just throw you into the infinitentiary.” The time traveler continued.

“Oh, phew.”

“You’ll have the chance to battle for your freedom in Globnar instead!”

“What!?” Ford cried incredulously.

“Eh, the kids did it.” Stan shrugged confidently. “How hard can it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while, eh?
> 
> On top of moving to another state and starting a new job, this chapter has given me a surprising amount of writer's block. I was so eager to finally write the boys standing up to Filbrick, but as soon as I actually got to that part... Wut R Wurds?
> 
> I hope the Time Cops showing up wasn't too abrupt. I've had that planned since like chapter three, that their confrontation would be the thing that finally alerted the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad to come arrest them. But it does kinda come out of nowhere.
> 
> Now, a quick question for all you readers: This isn't the end of our story, but it is the end of the Stan Twins adventures in their past. Would it be best to start a new work in a series from here, or continue the next part in a new chapter of this work? I'm leaning towards making a new work, but I'd like you guys' opinion too.


End file.
